Disclaimer :: I do not own these characters and no profit is being made from the use of them.

Note :: Special thanks to azraelz_angel because without our discussion about axe murders at Denny’s over crap’tastic food this story would have never been possible. *hugs*

Bestest Thing Ever

A log shifted, sparking and flames rolled up and over it. Engulfed the dry timber with red and orange light that cracked it, splintered its core and helped fill the chilled living room with heat as Buffy paced back and forth in front of the open fireplace. Her wool socks were rolled up over slim jeans as she wrapped her arms tighter around her middle and silently berated herself for allowing Dawn to talk her into a mini-vacation only for little sister to back out at the last minute and leave her alone. In a cabin, in Minnesota, in the dead of winter with her sister’s cat and no power—life was peachy.

A heavy knock at the door made her jump and spin toward it. The black and white longhaired tabby lifted his head from the back of the couch, blinked and lowered it back down. Shooting the feline a dirty look Buffy moved around the couch and resisted the urge to tug the afghan from beneath the lazy thing and sprawl him across the cold wood floors. She frowned at the door when she realized it didn’t have a peephole and sighed, unlocking the deadbolt and keeping the chain in place she pulled the door back and looked out.

She found herself staring at male chest covered by a thick black winter coat and she tilted her head back brought her gaze up, past a strong jaw to a bottom heavy mouth. Her gaze lingered a few seconds too long before she forced it up to meet a pair of eyes bluer than the California sky—God she missed the beach—set behind a pair of wire framed glasses.

His distracting mouth pulled up to one side, “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“We seemed to have lost power.” She raised her brows with his stating of the obvious and watched a faint blush work hard to fill his cheeks as he cleared his throat. “I’m in the cabin across the way. I just got in last night and woke up this morning with no power and a few too many inches of snow to safely drive back into town. And I-I know this is awkward—”

“Here.” Buffy stepped back from the door and closed it. Releasing the latch and opening it once more to see him turned away from her and making his way down the porch. “Hey!”

She stepped outside and shivered as the cold snapped around her and her socks absorbed the thin layer of snow that had settled across her doormat. Her sort of neighbor turned back around and she motioned him to follow rather than calling out and hurriedly made her way back inside. Holding the door open she slammed it as soon as his body made it over the threshold and winced as the snow that had been tracked in by her socks began to melt from the heat of her body.

Bracing her arm against a wall she tugged them off and frowned as her bare feet made contact with the chilled wood floors. She motioned to his jacket, “You can hang that in the hall closet and I think I still have some coffee.” She spun, making her way down said hall and called over her shoulder, “I’m Buffy.”

The closet door opened and he answered back, “Daniel, Daniel Jackson.”

She lifted the lid of a small coffee pot and tilted it. Smiling down at the contents she rose on tiptoe to open the cabinet in front of her and took down a mug as Daniel filled the door less entry. She glanced at him as he tugged off his beanie and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. He dipped his head, running a quick hand through his short, almost military styled hair.

She filled the cup and turned leaning against the counter and offering him it. His smile was warm and inviting. “Thank you.”

“So are you an axe murder?”

He choked on the first sip, “I’m sorry.”

“Do you chop people up with an axe during freak snow storms and hide the bodies till spring?”

“No. I-I can’t say that I do.”

Her head cocked, “You know, I think that’s how an axe murder would answer.”

He arched a brow, “And how am I to know you’re not a black widow?”

She grinned, “You think I’m going to seduce you and then take your head?”

The flush in his checks that had begun to fade once he got out of the wind burned back to life. “No…I…was just—”

Buffy pouted, interrupting his sputtering. “But then I would be the axe murder.”

“Actually they…ah…usually used poison.”

“The spider?”

“The serial killer.”

“Oh.” She watched him take another sip before asking, “So you’re sure you’re not an axe murder?”

His lips lifted, distracting her. “Positive.”

Buffy shook her head, “Well that sucks.”

“It sucks?”

“Yes.”

He blinked, clearly confused. “Why?”

She lifted a shoulder, “Well if you were an axe murder and I didn’t tell you where the axe was then you couldn’t kill me.”

Her reasoning stalled his thought processes for a moment before he shook his head. “How’s that?”

Buffy grinned, “Well if you’re preferred weapon of choice was nowhere to be found then your wanting to kill me might diminish.”

“So not only am I an axe murder but now I want to kill you?” She nodded, his head cocked as he became amused. “Why is that again?”

“I’m a small woman, alone in a snowstorm and without power. If that’s not the quintessential damsel waiting to be off’ed then I don’t know what is.” She paused and then offered, “Living room?”

“What?”

She smirked, “Do you want to take this into the living room? Ya know, the room with the fire.”

“Oh, sure.”

He turned and her gaze dipped to notice the fit of his jeans. Her lips pulled up as she followed him from the kitchen, suddenly of the belief that freak snowstorms might just be the bestest thing ever.